The Bilge King
by Joy Nelson
Summary: A starving man cannot woo capably so Hook masterminds a hustle while juggling salty dwarves, evil imps, crusty pirates and a jaded Swan.
1. Chapter 1

**SUMMARY:** An AU tale set after the events of the episode "Save Henry". Hook's efforts to put down roots rekindle and old feud and nets him a strange little patchwork family. Emma endeavors to keep him honest while dealing with their bizarre friendship and her own crazy family dynamic.

 **DISCLAIMER** : I've borrowed these characters from ABC and OUAT, the OC babies are mine.

 _It's rare when I have time to interact with anyone, so thank you in advance for the reviews._

 **ONE**

Emma couldn't breathe. The ground beneath her was hard and unyielding and so was the man grinding her into the snow-dusted terrain. Despite their mutual daze, he recognized her struggle and leveraged himself on one elbow to ease some of his weight from her. There was no falter in the deep, cadenced thrusts as he did so, or when he tugged the edge his long coat over a naked hip to shield her from the frigid wind. She was actually grateful for the snatches of cold that invaded their little cocoon. The heat their fierce coupling generated was near stifling. Emma stubbornly blamed it for the dizziness clouding her head, not the pirate stroking her into one of those orgasms that left your ears ringing and tears blurring your vision. And she was making a startling amount of noise, but as they were in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the wee hours, she didn't care.

With his nose buried in her hair and his mouth clamped firmly against her neck, Hook was infinitely more muted. When those smooth thrusts segued into erratic plunging and he finally climaxed, his hoarse groans reached her ears alone. The combined thumping of their hearts was a strangely melodic counterpoint to their shrill breathing.

Hook lifted his head and peered down at her with heavy-lidded eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I believe you've frightened away the animals, love."

Emma laughed softly and relaxed the fingers that had been digging into his ass. Her own was near frozen, but what was a little frostbite compared to the sublime feel of warm, male flesh pressed against your belly and thighs?

"Now." Hook adjusted the fur lining of her hood about her face and tucked the long coat's edges closer around her body. His manner was gentlemanly and amazingly casual given their carnal state. "What were you scolding me about then? Before you got distracted?"

"Before _I_...?" She snorted incredulously. His ego was a thing of beauty. "I wasn't scolding."

"Interrogating." He amended.

Emma sighed and repeated the question she'd asked him twice before he'd successfully sidetracked her. "What were you doing out here?"

"Enjoying nature."

"Usually people enjoy nature during the day, you know, when they can actually _see_ it."

Hook nuzzled her cheek and kissed her jaw chastely. A sweet gesture in stark contrast to the erotic tableau they presented with him wedged between her thighs and still seated inside of her. "What were _you_ doing out here?"

"Tracking you." Emma confessed, not at all contrite. His face was inches from her and she caught the mocking arc of his brow. "Sheriff. It's what I do."

"And do quite well, among other things."

He kissed her and Emma wondered if this could be considered a form of intercourse. It certainly felt like it, the way he ground his mouth against hers as he tongue performed a sensual thrust and glide. But now that she was sated, Emma was too shrewd to fall for his ploy again. As soon as he released her mouth, she ordered, "Now answer the question."

"Does your law allow a man to remain silent if he's being unfairly harassed?"

Her glare was meant to intimidate, but he only smiled and tugged playfully on a lock of her hair. There was a subtle roll of his hips against hers. Tricky bastard. She'd get no answers from him while vulnerable so she bucked upward to dislodge him.

"Give me a minute, love." He moaned, dropping his head to shoulder. "I haven't sufficiently recovered."

Emma determinedly pushed at his hips and this time he obligingly rolled off her. Even in the darkness, she could see she was a wanton mess, panties and jeans shoved down around her shins, soles of her ankle boots pressed together, legs splayed. Agitated, she lifted her lower body and yanked her clothes up in one smooth movement. Hook stood and offered a hand, pulling her easily to her feet. He finished straightening his own clothes and then began brushing away the snow and leaves that clung to the backs of her jacket and jeans.

How had she had allowed herself to succumb to his charms a third time? A _third_ time _._ Emma shook herself mentally and vowed to examine her weak will later. Right now, she wanted answers. His actions had become increasingly shady since they'd returned from Neverland last month. Their growing friendship might suffer, but she was determined to police Storybrooke the way she'd previously failed to do. Which meant she should maybe stop having impromptu sex with the object of her suspicions.

Emma zipped her jacket up to her chin, shivering as another icy gust hit her. When she turned to him, she propped hands on hips, affected an assertive stance and tried to ignore the lingering ache between her thighs. "Well?"

Sighing, Hook tunneled agitated fingers through his dark hair. "Can't a man have some secrets?"

"Sheriff." She reminded him.

There was a guttural hissing of some choice expletives and then he was striding away. The afterglow had officially faded. Silently, Emma followed as they wove a path through the trees and dense brush. She brought out a flashlight when the thick canopy of tree branches blocked the moon's faint illumination. In her head, guilt and duty clashed. She wanted to trust him. He'd saved her father's life and helped them rescue her son from Pan. She liked him, cared about him. But she couldn't ignore Leroy's unsolicited reports of Hook's mysterious, late night treks into the forest and his clandestine meetings with a couple of the town's lowlifes. He _was_ a pirate, after all.

When they were almost at the road, Hook paused to let her catch up, then offered her his arm. Relieved that the hissy fit was over, Emma let him escort her to the yellow Beetle. Once she was settled behind the wheel, he kissed her hand, shut the door gently and turned to walk back into the forest.

"Unbelievable." Emma muttered as she swiftly rolled down the window. "Hey!"

Pivoting, Hook sauntered back to her and propped an arm above the window as he leaned in close. "Yes, love?"

His aloofness was beyond infuriating and it was Emma's turn to cock a brow at him. "Seriously?"

And Hook's turn to be exasperated. "Whatever imagined corruption you think I'm engaged in, put it out of your head, Swan. I swear, I'm on my best behavior."

"You –"

"I expect you not to follow again."

" _Seriously_?"

"Have I not earned even a little of your faith?"

Frustrated, Emma dropped her head to the steering wheel and agonized over her loss of control. She should have kept her distance instead of befriending him, worrying about him. Now that they'd been intimate, he'd grown entirely too arrogant, probably thinking her to whipped to care whether he did that pillage and plunder thing.

Hook was observing her patiently when she looked up at him again. Her tone was deliberately hard. "I have to do my job. I'm the sheriff, I have responsibilities."

"Responsibilities that entail false persecution?"

"I need you to stay out of trouble."

"I've no plans to get into trouble."

"This is your _last_ chance. All it takes is one wrong move and people will remember why they didn't trust you in the first place."

"You lot take far too much pleasure in reminding me that I've tried to kill several of you on occasion."

Emma cranked the engine and turned the heat on full blast. "Let me take you back to town."

"I'd prefer to walk, lass."

Punching him in the throat would be so cathartic. "Do we understand each other at least? This isn't personal."

"Of course not."

"And..." These words would be more difficult to voice. "…so there's no more…confusion…we can't sleep together again."

He found that bit amusing. "I'm not confused, love. And we haven't exactly been _sleeping_."

"You know what I mean."

He regarded her silently, his eyes intense and accessing. "It seems I'm at your mercy, then. We shall do things your way. Goodnight, Swan." Then he straightened and vanished into the forest again.

Emma glowered pensively at the spot where he'd disappeared before giving up and aiming the Beetle towards home.

* * *

Storybrooke had a seedy side. It festered northeast of Jaune Cove and encompassed roughly two square miles. Ramshackle houses stood in neatly tiered rows on the hilly terrain overlooking the region's nefarious commercial hub, where dubious looking establishments bordered a poorly paved two-lane street and a wide, squat warehouse loomed at the dead end up ahead. There was an air of something sinister lurking just beneath the squalor. The town's quirky charm has missed this area. Or had been driven from it.

One could skulk through in five minutes. Less if you were at a run, as was the scrawny pillock who plowed into Hook and sent him stumbling off the sidewalk. The poor bastard was being chased by a more menacing pillock, so Hook let slide his need for apology. Pursuer and prey faded into the darkness and in the distance, Hook heard faint yelps of agony as he crossed the intersection.

He'd been advised to search the pub with gray stone and black awning, only every building here looked the same, all of them crumbling studies in disrepair. There were no eye-catching displays to guide potential patrons, only light struggling to shine through murky windows. Hook paused to suss out his destination, wondering what these poor bastards had done for Regina to have cursed them to _this_ existence.

A frenetic crowd outside one establishment drew Hook forward. Despite the chill, people loitered about, some engaged in debase activity. He edged by a couple who were a skirt-lift away from screwing against the wall and stepped through a tall, black door. It was indeed a pub and the place was nowhere near as appealing and sanitary as Granny's. Remnants of meals littered a couple of rickety tables and a puddle of something trickled across the scarred wood floor. The din was a jumble of rowdy customers and screeching that Hook recognized as modern song. That salty dwarf had called it heavy metal.

His interest was keen. And reciprocated. Curious eyes followed his slow swagger towards the bar. The massive brute working it grinned broadly, jagged teeth gleaming in the dim light. "You're a pretty one."

Whipping the long coat aside, Hook eased onto a stool. "Compliments for noticing."

"Sound pretty too." The brute ribbed good-naturedly. "You'd make a nice plaything."

"You have quite the ample tits there, but I shall have to pass."

The brute chortled, as did the two sloshed gentleman flanking Hook. They raised their glasses and nodded at the pirate before retreating back into their inebriated stupors. Hook felt oddly at home.

"Name's Olin and this pig sty is mine." Meaty arms were flung wide to encompass the hovel. Then he swiped the bar top with a filthy rag and slapped down a napkin. "What'll you have, Captain?"

Impressed, Hook's brow arced in silent query.

Olin shrugged. "Small town, word gets around. Except when we're about to die. We lesser beings don't usually find that out until shit's already swirling down the john."

"Bloody ruling class."

"High and mighty fuckers, all of 'em."

Hook grunted and ordered whiskey, because Storybrooke was sadly short of rum. The drink arrived neat and in a shockingly clean tumbler. It burned smooth and slightly sweet against his tongue and for a moment he thought he might come. Olin's libations were far superior to Granny's milder offerings and Hook was now tempted to sample the grub. But he was reluctant to spend the meager amount of doubloons he had left, so he got to his purpose and began covertly scanning the throng.

"Get you anything else?" Olin returned after he'd waited on several other customers. "More whiskey? Some supper maybe?"

"More whiskey. And information."

" _Ooh_ information, eh? The kind that could get a man beaten within an inch of his life?"

Hook was amused by the excited gleam in the barkeep's eyes. "Not at all."

There was a comical groan of disappointment. " _Damn_ I miss intrigue. A lot more interesting than some pissy queen's vengeful curse. It was loads more fun in the Old World." His tone turned wistful. "Mysterious strangers with agendas, espionage, depraved royals. And every now and again, you'd find a man's privates scattered about the -"

"He's a big chap, quite strapping." Hook accepted the fresh whiskey and guided Olin back to the present. "Bald. Has one blue eye, one brown."

"Oh _that_ beast. Can't remember his name, but he comes in a couple times a week. Last time I seen him, though, he looked like he'd been chewed up and shat on." Olin squinted at the clock mounted on a far wall. "Probably be here round midnight. It's his usual time to carouse."

While he waited, Hook nursed his drink, ignored the redhead aiming her cleavage at him, and brooded over Emma. It'd been exactly six days since he'd last seen her. Her habit of visiting him daily to make sure he was behaving was apparently over. The no sex edict must be enforced, after all. Ironic considering she'd been the one to initiate the sex in the first place. A mischievous attempt to introduce him to that foul cheese in a can had turned into resplendent fucking on his too narrow bed. A broader mattress and a mutual declaration of love beforehand would have been his preference. He'd actually made an honorable show of resisting, but alas, she had swirled her tongue in his ear…

"I detect a bit of Dálraida in your speech."

Surprised, Hook swung to the sloshed gentleman on his right. Who didn't appear to be sloshed at all. The crinkled blue eyes were watery and red-rimmed, but alert.

"I've been gone from that land for centuries."

"Perhaps." The old man beamed at the pirate as if he were a long lost son. "But some of that tongue is still evident in your speech."

Thrilled upon recognizing the faint but familiar lilt, Hook countered, "Yours as well."

"Well, I _am_ a descendent of its people."

Hook examined the old man carefully. He was bony, silver-haired and wore neatly arranged but threadbare clothing. The obviously wretched circumstances couldn't hide that noble bearing, however.

"What're you drinking, mate?"

"Ale that I've been sipping for an age. I'd much rather have Olin's excellent stew."

Hook lifted a finger at the barkeep, unable to pull his eyes from the old man. "What else do you know of Dálraida?"

* * *

The _Jolly Roger_ was moored near the end of the docks and in Neal's opinion, it eclipsed the pitiful modern ships surrounding it. There had been bad experiences aboard the pirate vessel, but they'd been outweighed by the good. Her flags could be dingy and tattered, her hull weathered gray and covered with barnacles but he'd still think she was the most beautiful vessel he'd ever seen. When he looked at her, it was always through the eyes of his boyhood. He'd probably be able to wax more lyrical about her if he were Hook, who loved the old girl beyond reason.

Apparently Emma was bewitched by the _Jolly_ too. She was standing on the dock a few feet away, the wind whipping blond hair around her face as she gazed up at the sails. As he walked towards her, she turned to face him and he noted the scowl.

"Hey." He stopped in front of her, wondering if the scowl was meant for him. As soon as he thought it, Emma's expression blanked and she tried to assume a casual air. Only Neal had already picked up on the awkward body language and the brief flash of guilt in her dark green eyes. He imagined it would take a little more time to heal all the old and new wounds between them. After Hook had gallantly stepped aside, they'd tried to rekindle their romance. And had flamed out in less than a week. The friendship, such as it was, had miraculously survived.

Was she really going to try to pretend she wasn't with Hook now? If that was the case, they should probably pick a less conspicuous place to fuck. Midnight walks on the beach were ruined for him now. Seriously, had she ever been that loud with him? Neal's lips twitched as he struggled and failed not to laugh.

Emma wanted in on the joke. "What?"

Neal shrugged. "You got I've-been-schtupped-by-a-pirate face."

She reached for her gun.

"Sorry…sorry." Neal laughed harder as he raised his hands defensively. Despite his humor, he still felt a twinge of jealousy. "What is it with you? Death-glaring at the _Jolly_? Hook's got a thing for you, but that chick is his true love."

"Oh I know not to mess with his girl." The derisive eye roll didn't match her grin. "I was just wondering about those two."

The scowl returned and Neal followed its aim towards the men who'd emerged onto the main deck.

"I asked where Hook was and they gave me that look." Emma snarled.

"What look?"

"The one that says you're a girl and you've got cooties."

Neal chuckled, spying the goodies in her hand. "He stand you up or something?"

"Look, we're not dating or anything." Emma's voice was hard as she edged the bottle of wine and takeout bag behind her. "I'm just helping him get…adjusted."

"Oh I'm sure you are."

Emma sighed. "Let's drop this before things get sticky. Who are they?"

Neal pointed at the black man with the freakishly large hands. "Big dude is Thump...skinny one is Waghorn."

"Not their real names obviously."

"Obviously. They used to be part of Hook's crew in the Enchanted Forest and apparently are again." Noting the rigidness of her svelte frame, he asked, "What's the deal?"

"No deal. Just making sure his nose stays clean."

That Emma was invested in keeping Hook on the straight and narrow said a lot about how she really felt. What was it about him? The accent? The chest hair? It did have that manly swirl thing going on.

"He's not real keen on snooping."

"Where do you see snooping?" She was visually castrating him now. "What're _you_ doing here?"

"Looking for Hook, same as you. Trying to pin him down about going to New York on Thursday."

"Why're you going to New York?"

"He's got business there." Neal grimaced on the last word. He might've broken the bro code spilling that information.

"What kind of business?"

"Dial it back, Pepper Anderson."

"What kind of business?"

"Nuh uh. You wanna know what's going on, you ask him." Neal moved closer to the _Jolly_ and yelled, "Yo! Waghorn! Have you seen Hook?"

The man moved to the railing and shouted back, "Probably at a bar with his face in some titties!"

Neal cringed. He took note of Emma's icy countenance and was suddenly glad he wasn't hers.

* * *

It was just after midnight when Hook's quarry finally appeared. The door was tall but the man was taller, having to dip his head to enter the pub. As Hook watched him greet a group gathered around the billiard table, he felt a tug on his sleeve and glanced down. Wulfson had donned small, round spectacles and was shrewdly examining the long coat's cuff.

"Superb stitching." The old man noted and began carefully plucking away indiscernible lint. "Who fashioned this garment for you?"

"I can't recall." Hook murmured absently and returned his attention to the bruiser across the room. He caught one of the frazzled servers by the arm and ordered a beer to be sent over.

"The fabrics are quite extraordinary." Wulfson was now admiring the garment's lining, fingers gliding over the area where leather and cloth met. "I suppose the weaver is long dead."

The bruiser accepted the beer as the server pointed out Hook. There was the barest flicker of recognition in the man's eyes and none of the relief the others had displayed. But he made his way towards the bar nonetheless and took up a wide-legged stance, ever menacing despite the life worn countenance. Hook was reminded of Black Murphy and a jolt of melancholy twisted in his chest. Every so often, he experienced fleeting moments where he missed his old crew.

"Captain." The greeting was gruff, wary. Surprisingly deferential after all this time.

"Breakspear."

"In this world, I'm known as Gary."

"Name doesn't suit you at all." Hook scrutinized his former master gunner from tattered boots to haggard face. "Olin was right. You do look as if you've been shit upon."

"Haven't been as lucky in life as you, Captain." The man growled, voice rumbling like thunder over the loud music.

The murder of loved ones and the loss of a limb were lucky? Hook's answering grin was wry.

"What're you doing on this side of town?"

"Looking for you. Charming community, by the way."

The bruiser lowered himself onto a stool and the miserable wood whimpered beneath his weight. "It's like the bilge here. Full of filth and vermin. No place for a captain."

"Nor one of my best men." Hook countered and meant it. Breakspear hadn't served aboard the _Jolly_ long, but he'd served her well. "How does a man as capable as you find himself here?"

Massive shoulders rolled into a shrug. "It's like you said. Been shit on."

"Haven't we all." Wulfson commiserated as he stood and straightened Hook's collar.

Breakspear's curious eyes darted between Hook and Wulfson, but he said nothing. They sat in silence for a companionable stretch, Hook nursing his whiskey, Breakspear sipping a second beer, Wulfson enjoying a third helping of stew. In his head, Hook calculated he'd be well and truly destitute by week's end, but it would be money well spent if he could recruit _one_ competent crewman.

"How dire are your straits, then?" Hook finally got on to business.

"Things are rough." Breakspear answered reluctantly. "But I'm not ready to off myself."

"Then your clinging to life is of benefit to me. I'm in need of a worthy crewman."

Black brows knitted together. "We can't exactly sail the high seas anymore, Captain. The border, remember? Life isn't so bad that I want to forget who I am and all I've lived."

"Pirating is no longer an option for us but your skills could be useful in other endeavors. In the meantime, I'm going away for a few days and need someone to look after the ship, among other things."

"Isn't that Smee's job?"

"You're far more trustworthy. Besides, Mr. Smee seems to have gone missing and Thump and Waghorn tend towards buffoonery."

"Heh. Those assholes finally found you, I see."

After learning of his arrival in Storybrooke, the two former crewmen who'd been caught up in the Evil Queen's curse had gravitated towards Hook, seeking refuge from their pitiful existences here. They'd already moved into the _Jolly's_ crew quarters, bringing with them paltry but welcome provisions to curry favor.

"As I recall, you discharged the whole crew not long before the curse hit." Breakspear accused. "Without good reason. So if I tell you to fuck off -"

"It would be understandable. I'll fuck off and you can continue your grand existence." Hook's gaze pointedly swept their coarse surroundings. "As it were."

There was a scratch of his scruff and brief enthrallment with his boots as Breakspear contemplated. "If we're not pirating, then what'd be our game?"

"The game, Mr. Breakspear..." Hook tipped his drink forward, "...is survival."

Grinning broadly, Breakspear tapped his mug against Hook's tumbler. "To survival, then."


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

Captain Hook was a crafty fucker. Even if someone _was_ brave enough to venture into this eerie and treacherous region of the forest, they wouldn't easily happen upon the treasure buried beneath rotting animal carcasses, dung-filled craters and treacherous ravines. Digging it up was nasty work. Breakspear had several ugly gashes, Captain was soaked, and they both reeked of decay and muck.

They'd started at dawn and were lugging twelve large bags back to Breakspear's concealed Jeep by noon. A heavy snow began to fall, adding to their misery. After they'd locked the gold in old steamer trunks, Breakspear drove them back to the harbor. He suspected there was more loot hidden in foul places, far and away from the gold they'd retrieved. But he'd let the captain keep his secrets. He wasn't about to piss on good fortune. He'd take whatever payment was offered for whatever work needed doing and be thankful he no longer had to sleep in his car.

But later, after they'd washed up and were settled in the warm galley with Wulfson's crude meat pie, Breakspear's curiosity got the better of him. "Those coins weren't like any currency I've ever seen. In the Enchanted Forest or beyond."

"Took a peek, did we?"

"Not by design. You saw the bag rip."

"Hmm…yes." The captain's amusement was self-deprecating. "Was that before or after I went boots up in the brook?"

Breakspear guffawed at the memory of the normally sure-footed captain taking a header as he yanked a bag from its underwater hole.

"May I remind you of your less than graceful foray into that pile of shit?"

The guffaw faded into a sheepish chuckle.

The captain's smirk was superior as he pried bottle caps from a couple of beers. "The coins are unfamiliar because they're not from any realm you'd know."

"Did a little pirating while waiting for the curse to lift, yeah?"

"Treasure hunting, Mr. Breakspear."

Pirating just the same, Breakspear thought. "Call me soft, Captain, but I'm not sure I should share in a treasure I didn't help hunt."

"Of course you shouldn't. But you'll earn a fine wage acting as my left hand. You can handle things here? I've delayed my trip to New York long enough."

"The ship and those two asses will be as right as you left them." Breakspear assured him, then wondered about the strange elderly man who'd followed the captain home from Olin's last week. "What about the old man?"

"What do you mean?"

"Got a weird feeling about him."

"He's a peculiar gent, but he's harmless." The captain's tone meant business. "And he's welcome here."

"Of course, Captain. At least he can cook." Breakspear noted as he began wolfing down supper. It had been left warming on top of the iron stove, but Wulfson was nowhere to be found. "He's disappeared again, you know. Too cold for someone as feeble as him to be wandering about. Wonder where he's got to?"

* * *

The C-notes had been counted out, placed in a small envelope, and slipped beneath the cash register for easy access. Olin liked his shakedowns painless and quick. Marie burst from the kitchen frequently to ask nonsensical questions and scrub aimlessly at stubborn stains. He knew she worried that this could be the day she might lose him. That pent-up anger might lead to foolish action and her husband's gory death. Olin shooed her away with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the bum, then tried to hush his rage with scotch.

Mr. Gold arrived promptly at noon, his dapper shoes echoing gloomily against the uneven floors. Marie had been haranguing Olin to replace the rotting wood, but money was like magic beans around here. The meager profit made went towards liquor, overhead andthis evil bastard.

"Afternoon, Mr. Daugherty."

Olin nodded curtly and tossed the envelope onto the bar.

"I don't believe we've ever had a November quite cold as this." Gold said amiably. Had the nerve to be amiable as he gelded a man. He tallied Olin's payment and then leveled him with vacant eyes and a condescending smile. "Everything appears to be in order."

"As it always is." Olin noted wearily.

"Until next month, then."

"If I stay open that long." Olin muttered once the imp was out the door and crossing the street towards the bakery, which really wasn't a bakery anymore. Poor Gus was forced to bake a small amount of inferior goods at home, having no money to repair his ovens.

"A most unpleasant man."

If Olin hadn't been used to Wulfson appearing out of nowhere, he'd have been startled. As it was, he was glad to see the wily codger. It had been especially cold of late and Wulfson often made his bed on the streets. He emerged from the shadows looking none the worse for wear and swathed as usual in his dingy yet artfully arranged clothing. A curious fellow. At times he looked as ancient as the earth and at others he appeared ageless. Today he was boyish and full of vim.

"Where've you been now? Marie was worried."

"The captain saw fit to provide me shelter on his ship."

"That was good of him." Olin said, recalling the bowls of stew the pirate had bought for Wulfson. He'd have been fed regardless. Marie couldn't abide by letting him go hungry. But Hook had been willing to pay for Wulfson's usually free meals and Olin had needed the profit. "Sleeping on an old ship can't be any warmer than sleeping in the alley."

"Not by much, but the cots are softer and there's no bite from the wind."

"Well, the offer of our storage room still stands. It's no trouble to move some things around, make you a nice bed."

"I wouldn't feel right unless I earned my keep and you've no jobs for me to do. Speaking of which, I was wondering if you could grant a favor and help me retrieve some of my belongings? Master Killian hasn't said anything, but I feel I should repay his kindness with more than just my modest cooking."

"Be glad to help. Just let me get my tools."

In the storage room, Olin retrieved bolt cutters and a flashlight, then he and Wulfson exited the pub through the back door leading into the alley. Riffraff were hanging around the dumpster behind the butcher shop and Olin hoisted the bolt cutters menacingly. They wisely slithered away.

"The pirate seems to have taken a liking to you."

Wulfson tugged off his hat, adjusted the brim, then angled it atop his head at a stylish tilt. "He feels a kinship, as do I."

"He seems a good man, but what could you possibly have in common?"

"Well." Wulfson's gait became spryer. "That's a long story best saved for another day."

The tale could be coaxed out of him _this_ day with a couple of pieces of Marie's cobbler. For now, Olin concentrated on stealth as they made for the warehouse.

* * *

Emma placed the meal before Hook and watched him take a first bite. She'd expected delight and curiosity, maybe a demand for more. But the expression distorting his features was one of mild disgust. He pushed her offering away until it teetered at the edge of the table, poured a shot of whiskey, and promptly drained it.

"Apologies." Hook noted her dismay. "Must burn the swill off my tongue."

"It's not _that_ bad." Emma chided.

She'd been looking forward to his reactions to electronic gadgets, Lady Gaga, fast food. Porn. He was a curious relic in a modern world and watching him fumble, gawk and ooh would no doubt be adorable and goddamn hysterical. Unfortunately for Emma's amusement, Hook was extremely underwhelmed by excessive new world stimuli.

"I've never tasted shit before, but I'm quite sure that comes close." Hook muttered in his refined accent, then knocked back a second shot. "What do you call it again?"

"A burrito. People love that _shit_."

"It tasted of salt and lard."

"You're definitely not a normal guy."

"And there was a subtle tang of ass."

"You've tasted ass before?"

He snorted and chased the whiskey with one of the beers she'd brought. Emma wanted to shove the burrito down his throat, along with a couple of burgers and a gallon or five of ice cream. He looked thinner. Or did he just appear thinner because she hadn't seen him in two weeks? She scrutinized the pristine galley, wondering where he'd gotten coal. How was he surviving? Did he realize it was too cold to be living on the ship? What did he do for money? Food? She was desperate to know. And worried. But dealing with male pride was a tricky thing. Her probing would have to be subtle and peppered with just enough blatant curiosity that he wouldn't suspect what she was really after.

"So what have you been up to?" She picked up her own beer and rescued the teetering burrito.

"Not a bloody thing." Leaning back in his chair, Hook propped his booted feet up on the battered oak table. "There's a distinct lack of debauchery in this town. It vexes me."

A faint snicker drew their attention towards a corner of the galley. The old man was perched on a chair next to the cast iron stove, John Lennon-like glasses propped on his long straight nose. He was applying careful stitches to rich brown leather and every so often would pin Emma with an unnerving stare.

The glide of a finger across the back of her hand drew her eyes back to Hook and she leaned forward to whisper, "You realize you're whining to the _sheriff_ about not being able to pillage and plunder?"

His voice and the finger dipped lower. "I'm only interested in plundering you."

Emma's pulse thumped between her thighs.

"Mind your manners, Master Killian."

Hook threw an amused scowl towards the corner. "You've got quite the keen ears, old man."

Wulfson paused in his needlework to give Hook a serious look. "She _is_ a lady, despite her questionable manner of dress."

Emma blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Come, Swan." Hook rose and held open her jacket. "I shall sully you somewhere more private."

That got a chuckle from Wulfson instead of admonishment. "Reprobate." He then stood, sewing clutched carefully against him, and affected a polite bow. "Good evening, Miss Swan."

"Yeah…you too." Emma murmured as she watched Hook shrug into the long coat. He'd been sitting when she arrived and now that he was standing, she could see the leather pants and high-collared black shirt were definitely looser. They weren't hanging off him, but the difference was noticeable to someone who discreetly and regularly ogled him.

This tact thing wasn't working for her.

"You've lost weight." She stated bluntly when they were outside the galley. "Are you sick?"

"I'm fine, love."

The reply was succinct, flat, and delivered with a shuttered countenance. Emma let it slide because his eyes had narrowed to slits, those pretty blue orbs glittering ominously through a veil of black lashes. Backing off was not in her nature, yet she'd been doing a lot of it lately for Hook. She didn't want to examine the reasons why.

The guy with the mountainous physique was on deck, hunching against the cold as he puffed a cigarette. Emma considered herself a tough girl, not easily intimidated by men, but that thing looked like it snacked on Godzilla. He nodded cordially at them before returning to gazing out at the water.

Hook twisted a key in a large padlock and dragged away chains, then they were descending into his cabin. He moved confidently through the darkness to light a lamp. The flow of hot air from a portable heater provided only minimal relief from the cold.

"So what's the deal with the old dude and the ogre?" Emma edged carefully by a couple of steamer trunks. "You've got a thing for attracting nuts."

"I don't transact with lunatics, love. They're all good men. Especially Wulfson. He's as gentlemanly as they come."

"Did you hear what he said about my clothes? He basically called me a bimbo."

Hook parted his coat to wrap her shivering form against him. "Bimbo?"

"What you'd call a slag. A woman of ill repute."

"He called you no such thing. Although you must admit, your clothes _are_ rather tight. I've stripped garments off women in half the time it takes to relieve you of yours. " His point was emphasized as he struggled to wedge his hand down the back of her jeans. "How do you breathe in pants this snug?"

She pulled his hand away, but let him press her against the wall. The sly glide of her palms up his torso was to check for protruding ribs. There was hardness, but nothing alarmingly boney. "So. You and Neal are hitting the road tomorrow."

"Thus the true nature of your visit is revealed." His placed a gentle bite along her jaw, sucking the soft skin between his teeth. As he nuzzled her neck he whispered, "Will you miss me?"

Emma was determined to stay on track this time. "What's in New York?"

"Hopefully a willing woman." He growled in frustration as he lifted his head. "I seem unable to find one here."

She might've been put out if she didn't know better. "Please. We both know you're sprung."

"Sprung?"

"Never mind. Convince me that you're not up to something?"

"What's in it for me?"

"A date?" She ventured.

"A social engagement?" He sauntered to the bed and stretched out on top of it. "But what would be the point? I've already ravished you from bow to stern."

"I'm swooning." Emma commented drily. She joined him on the bed, propping herself on an elbow to face him. "Why all the secrecy?"

"Why all the suspicion?"

"Sheriff."

"And here I thought you valued honesty." Hook tsked as he flung a heavy blanket over her. "Isn't your diligent monitoring of my activities about making sure I'm worthy of you?"

How could she answer that without giving him hope or losing him completely? To be honest, Emma was so conflicted, she didn't know what she wanted or how to feel. He was sticking around now, but what happened if he got the chance to shake Storybrooke for good? She wasn't about to get her heart invested. Sure as hell wasn't going to follow him to God knows where and risk losing Henry or her parents again.

"Everything I'm doing is for you, love, I swear." He confessed seriously, skimming his knuckles across her cheek and placing a kiss there. The hard set of his feature screamed determination. "When you finally succumb to me, I'll have more to offer you than just my prowess."

Well that sounded as if he was willing to dip into serious relationship territory. Maybe she should stop underestimating her ability to inspire devotion.

"When you get back, we're going to have a talk. Not a question and question session. A _talk_ about what's going on or there's no more of," She tipped a finger back and forth between them, "this. Capiche?"

"Capiche?"

"Never mind." She sighed, pushing him onto his back as she straddled him. "Just do that ravish thing."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Thumbelina was _real_? Emma shouldn't be surprised anymore, but discovering the fairytale alter egos of Storybrooke's citizens always threw her for a loop and she'd badly whiffed on the true identity of their downstairs neighbor. She and Henry had a standing who's who bet going and Emma was now one-for-seven and another ten bucks poorer. The clues had been glaring, though. Maia was an itty bitty thing with blond hair, a cloyingly sweet singing voice and a fondness for flowery décor.

Emma slowly pivoted as she took in the loft's surroundings, sizing up its potential. The ceilings weren't as high as her parents', but the expansive red brick was free of painted advertisements and the wood floors were in good shape. Two bedrooms existed on opposite ends with their own small bathrooms and the kitchen, despite the 80s melamine cabinets, was in decent condition as well. All the place needed was a thorough deflowering and furniture that was less precious and wee.

"I think it's perfect for you." Mary Margaret enthused, tracking Emma's shrewd reconnaissance of her prospective new home. "Much bigger than the other place."

Emma flashed her mother a knowing smile. "Perfect for me or for my parents who are right upstairs?"

Mary Margaret shrugged. "We're clingy. Get used to it."

"I can move out before the end of the month and I'm flexible on the price." Maia offered, blue eyes wide and hopeful. Per Mary Margaret, she was anxious to sell so she could move in with her soon-to-be husband, an erstwhile prince who owned the town's only flower shop and who was maybe a couple of inches taller than his teeny tiny bride.

"The price is fine." Emma assured her, edging to the bank of windows to hide her apprehension. Taking on a mortgage meant being tied down and there was still a small part of her that wanted to take Henry and amscray, away from curses and bitchy evil queens. Besides, Emma was a bright lights, big city girl and Storybrooke was way too Bumfuck, USA. Love was the only thing really keeping her here.

Under Maia and Mary Margaret's scrutiny, Emma did one more circuit of the apartment before turning to them with resolve. "I'll have my realtor call yours."

She was hugged within an inch of her life by both women before escaping back upstairs with Mary Margaret. David was already there, laboring over a pot of chili and he looked up expectedly when they entered. "What's the verdict?"

Emma joined him in the small kitchen space, answering his question with a wry "Howdy, neighbor."

"You're moving downstairs? This is great!" He pulled his daughter into a fierce hug. "Would've been pretty hard to smother you from across town."

Emma snorted, fishing around in the cabinet for the vodka she kept there. She poured a generous amount into a tumbler, chased it with cranberry juice and ice and with drink in hand, sprawled tiredly on the loveseat.

"You can have that if you want. For the new place." Mary Margaret said as she began setting the table. "I'm thinking of buying new furniture."

"Damn, I didn't even think about furniture." Emma's possessions consisted of her car, clothes and a sadly miniscule amount of keepsakes from her childhood and adult life. "I need… _everything_."

"Sounds like we need to go shopping. How about tomorrow?"

"Storybrooke has furniture stores?"

"Two. And we could always go to Marco's. He's started making and selling some things."

Eh. Probably wouldn't find anything she liked. Most of the style on display around here ranged from traditional to peasant chic to dark and regal. Emma's taste was more eclectic and edgy.

New York had _lots_ of eclectic and edgy. She could borrow David's truck and go there this weekend. Make it a mini vacation.

Check out some furniture stores.

Do a little sightseeing.

Find out what Hook was up to.

* * *

The crossbow aimed at his chest had Breakspear rethinking his tactics. Maybe he should've waited for the captain to return or approached Granny Lucas with a bit more finesse. Maybe he shouldn't have lost his temper. Maybe he shouldn't have done that looming and scowling bit that scared people shitless. But he took seriously his duties as Hook's left hand man and per the captain's meticulously kept ledger, he was owed some money. It was Breakspear's job to collect.

"I just want what the captain's owed."

"I charge fair prices for goods and services!" Granny shouted for the _fourth_ time.

What was that saying? A hit dog will holler? As soon as Breakspear had politely pointed out that Hook had been overpaying for those goods and services, the old bag had started screaming. He was sure shame was fueling the histrionics, but he wasn't about to back down. Especially now that the money Hook had left them had dwindled down to nearly nothing.

"Your prices may be fair, but the captain paid in doubloons, and one of those is worth a helluva lot more than a goddamn dollar." Breakspear countered, ire rising. How could she justify taking a solid gold coin for twenty bucks worth of liquor? "He's new to this world. He had no fucking idea what he was paying and instead of being honest about that shit, you chose to cheat him instead. And he knew he was most likely being cheated, but he chose not to call you on it. He's a better gentleman than me."

She had the grace to look guilty. For all of two seconds. Rather than concede, Granny aimed the crossbow higher. Breakspear advanced, only intending to disarm her, but he took a wary step back when Ruby came into view, fingers lightly gripping the hem of her miniskirt. She kept a pistol strapped between her thighs and he knew that because he'd been between said thighs before.

"I don't want any trouble." Breakspear raised his hands.

"Then back off, asshole."

Breakspear sighed, the agitation he'd been holding back now rising full force. He _hated_ dwarves. Especially this one, he thought as he turned to face Leroy. He was standing in the doorway of the boarding house's foyer, mean mugging, pickaxe held defensively in his grubby little hands. "Whacha gonna do with that?"

"Mine for cartilage." Leroy growled and began circling the taller man in an exaggerated crouch.

"Fuck." Breakspear muttered. Captain would keelhaul him if he were to get into it with these people. And given that they were favorites of the Charmings, he doubted he'd get fair treatment in the aftermath. So he skirted round the grungy imp, fully intending to continue the collection rounds with more amenable merchants and leave the old woman for Hook to handle. He was dipping his head to pass through the doorway when he heard the dwarf's smug whisper.

"That's how their kind operates."

And the anger was back full force. Breakspear went still, fists clenching at his sides.

He _hated_ dwarves.

* * *

Emma crested the stairs and came to an abrupt halt. Hook was sitting with his back against Neal's apartment door, bare-chested and clad in a pair of snug black trousers, immaculately polished boots peeking from the hems. His long legs stretched towards her and his dark head was tipped skyward as he knocked back the contents of a flask. When he saw her, the grin he gave her was two parts joy and one part rogue.

"Missed me, eh, love?"

"Hardly." Emma sashayed forward and dropped down next to him. "I needed a vacation and wanted to see New York."

"How does one find respite surrounded by endless stone and constant noise?"

"I can take a nap in Storybrooke." Emma admired the swirl of hair around his nipples. "I needed excitement, I needed to be entertained."

"So it _is_ that you missed me."

"You don't quit, do you?"

He merely smiled and dropped a kiss to her shoulder before laying his head there, both enjoying the intimate silence as the muted screams of city life echoed from outside.

"What're you doing out here?" Emma asked eventually, dipping her head to look at him as his eyes flew open.

"Ah. Baelfire is getting reacquainted with some lass." Heavy lids drifted close again. "Called her an old girlfriend."

"Got kinda crowded, huh?"

"And remarkably loud. Her vocal scale rivals yours."

"How will you know you're doing it right unless I rupture your eardrums?" Emma countered, noticing something idling under his thigh. "What's that?"

Wordlessly, he pulled out a thick gold bar and dropped it into her hand.

Surprised, Emma grunted at the heavy weight and gave him a sideways look. "Where'd you get this?"

His eyes narrowed. "I didn't pinch it if that's what you're thinking."

"I wasn't." But she was.

"As it happens, this world seems to love to barter in gold and I have a lot of it. Baelfire has…connections _._ People who, for an extra percentage, ignored the hows and whys of such odd looking treasure and turned it into a more marketable form. That…" he tapped the bar, "…is a souvenir."

Emma turned the gold over in her hands, noting the embossed _22K_. "This is some quality stuff. Mind if I ask how much you got for it?"

He casually tossed out a figure and Emma's whole body jerked visually with shock. She was speechless for a moment, eyes wide and jaw slack as she gazed at him. Hook regarded her with amusement.

"Yes," With a finger under her chin, he gently closed her mouth. "Baelfire had the same reaction."

"That's a lotta scratch."

"Is that yet another colorful term for money? This world's vernacular is quite amusing." He took the bar from her and held it at eye level, turning it over several times as he admired it. "At any rate, given Bae's lessons in calculating your currency, it appears Storybrooke's merchants owe me quite a bit of change."

"I hate to disappoint you, but people in Storybrooke are disgustingly moral. I doubt they'd screw over anyone intentionally, let alone the infamous Captain Hook."

"Hmm."

"No. Seriously."

"If you say so, love."

Speaking of morals…

"Probably took a lot of doubloons to make one gold bar."

He leaned his head back against the wall and stared down at her with impassive blue eyes. "Come now, Swan, no need for tact. What happened to my tough, no-nonsense lass?"

There was a hint of sadness in his tone and it gave Emma pause. Could she really be that judgmental given her own history? Still, how had he come by that much gold? Stolen from other pirates? She could let that pass. Stolen from innocent people? Not so much.

"I can see you have a lot of questions, but let's save the sparring for another day, shall we?" His hand swept up her thigh, fingers caressing the juncture between them. Apparently he was done with being subtle. "You didn't come all this way to interrogate me, so shall we just commence to fucking?"

Yep, done with being subtle. After three weeks of forced abstinence, Emma appreciated that. She shooed him inside to retrieve his belongings and to leave a note for Neal. He emerged minutes later, small duffel in hand, wearing a worn gray jacket that obviously belonged to her ex. By the time they'd made the trek to her hotel room, Emma had pushed her doubts to the back of her mind again. They spent all evening and a good portion of the morning engaged in acts that would make Hugh Hefner blush and all afternoon sleeping off the sexual fatigue. And after a day spent alone hunting for new furniture, she'd returned to her room to find him waiting and ready for her again. But despite how amazing it had all been, she couldn't cajole Hook into coming back to Storybrooke with her Sunday morning.

"I'd rather make the journey back with Baelfire." He'd told her. "There are some matters we need to discuss."

It was good that the two of them could be adults about it, but she was finding Hook and Neal's blasé attitude towards their really fucked up love triangle sort of weird. But she'd left it alone, dropping him off at Neal's with a kiss goodbye.

After returning to a couple of stores to let them load the previous day's purchases, she hit the highway. Late afternoon found her arriving back in Storybrooke. The long trip and Hook's cryptic behavior had left her tired and in a nasty mood. And when a giant and a dwarf rolled into the middle of street and sent the truck skidding into a vicious stop, the mood got even nastier.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Hook shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat of Baelfire's black metal vessel – a _Camaro_ , he'd called it - and slowly rolled his head and shoulders to ease the kinks from his neck. "Are we nearing the end of this bloody journey?"

Bae chuckled and lowered the volume on the radio. "We're about a half hour out of Storybrooke. Hey, if we'd taken the _Jolly_ , the trip would've been twice as long."

"While I appreciate the swiftness of your vessel..." Hook tried in vain to stretch his stiff legs. "…and that it's more aesthetically pleasing than that hideous thing Swan captains…"

Bae hooted.

"…these small confines are no match for being able to travel with the sun on your face and the wind in your hair."

"Wait until you discover convertibles."

Hook gave him a questioning look.

"A car with a top that lets down."

"Sounds intriguing."

"And since you're stuck here you should probably learn how to drive."

After days spent watching Bae work the odd controls, Hook imagined he'd be able to navigate a _car_ in a pinch. No lessons required. It couldn't be as difficult as manning a ship, which was far larger and required more skill to maneuver.

"What're you planning on doing with all that cash?"

As he focused on the passing scenery, Hook contemplated that conundrum. "Beyond purchasing pretty trinkets for Emma? I've no clue."

Other than obtaining monetary means for survival and wooing Emma, Hook was baffled as to how to proceed with this new life. Before, his purpose had been clear. Die getting his revenge on the Crocodile or captain the _Jolly Roger_ until he was dead. In this new world, he wasn't sure where he _could_ or _did_ fit in. He supposed he could apply that relentless trait of his towards finding a way back to Misthaven, where he could easily resume pirating. Only he wasn't keen on living in a realm with no Emma Swan in it.

Still, this sustained idleness would drive him mad if he didn't find some occupation to fill his time. He couldn't spend every hour of every day making love to Emma, no matter how enjoyable that might be.

"So." Baelfire sent him a wry look before focusing on the road again. "You and Emma have reached the _pretty trinkets_ stage of the relationship."

Hook studied his profile, but Bae's expression revealed nothing. "Must we have another conversation about our intentions?"

"Not unless you want me to pull over and kick your ass."

"Given that I tutored you in fisticuffs, I'd likely win that fight." Hook boasted half-heartedly, scratching behind his ear as he pressed on. "I realize the situation is…awkward."

"Only when the three of us are in the same space. One on one, I can handle it." Bae swiftly maneuvered the car around a sluggish blue one and shrugged. "Anyway, I'm thinking about moving back to New York."

Hook's reaction was fierce and swift. "And abandon your boy?"

"No…I wouldn't…I mean, I'd come back to visit…" Baelfire glanced at him ruefully. "It'd make things easier."

"Bae." Hook turned in his seat and clapped a hand to the other man's shoulder. "When I look at you, I don't see a rival for Emma's affections. I see _Milah's_ son."

There was a flash of gratefulness in Baelfire's eyes. Hook was determined to let bygones be bygones. They'd been close once, granted Bae had been a young lad then. But he believed he could like the man he'd become, this Neal Cassidy. However, Hook would probably never totally absolve him of the emotional wounds he'd caused Emma and he didn't want Bae to think that would ever be forgotten.

"You _did_ break Emma's heart."

Baelfire groaned. "Dude, you just pissed all over our moment."

"Do you know how difficult it is to court a woman with so many walls? I should run you through for that, but Emma is quite capable of fighting her own battles. I'll focus on what's between you and I." His gaze swept over Bae's harsh features and… _there_ …just there. "And I still see Milah's boy. You've grown into a decent man."

"Nice recovery."

Lightly thumping him on the chest, Hook sat back. "So you and I are….?"

"Total goombahs."

Hook groaned. "More of that bizarre verbal lunacy."

" _Friends_ , man. We're friends." Baelfire laughed, then grew serious after a moment of introspective silence. "Yeah, maybe I'll stick around. I do wanna spend more time with my kid, you know? Try to make amends with Emma for all that past shit. Things with her are still sticky, but I'm dealing with it."

Hook's thoughts immediately went to the vast array of women Baelfire had entertained during their New York sojourn. "By bedding an endless string of women?"

Bae sighed and shook his head in mild self-disgust. "When I'm in my Emma funk, I brood, I self-flagellate. When I'm in my _Tamara_ funk, I bed an endless string of women."

Hook swung back to Bae in surprise. He'd never considered that the man might still hold some tender feelings for the fiancée who'd tried to kill him. Hook doubted he'd be as conflicted. Then again, love was not an emotion one could simply turn aside. He imagined if Milah or Emma had attempted to off him, he'd be in the same emotional quagmire.

"Enchanting enigmas, women." Hook mused, returning his gaze to the road stretching ahead of them. "They can rip our hearts to shreds yet still inspire us to adoration and yearning. And blazing bouts of idiocy."

Bae heaved a long sigh. "Amen, brother."

* * *

The _Jolly Roger_ was in a sad state. Empty beer cans and rotten food littered the deck. Ladies undergarments dangled from the bow sprit. A loose jib flapped in the breeze. And some pillock had painted _Pan Lives!_ across her hull.

Baelfire stepped over a mound of something unidentifiable oozing across the main deck and did a slow, incredulous turn as he took in the damage. "What the fuck?"

With quiet fury, Hook traded his wooden hand for his hook. "What the fuck _indeed_."

While Bae continued to inspect the damage above, Hook went below to search for his crew, but their quarters and the galley were empty. His thoughts immediately went to the old man and now a jolt of concern wedged itself in the middle of his ire. When he returned up top, Thump and Waghorn were there, stumbling over each other in a scramble to offer apologies and explanations. In the cacophony, Hook picked out "Breakspear", "fucking dwarf", and "jail".

"The cockboat's missing, but that's it." Bae told him. "Looks like some kids decided to have a party."

"Bloody dung munchers." Hook scanned the harbor for signs of life. "Perhaps I should ask about, see if someone saw anything."

"You can't go all vigilante, man."

"And why not? Plough a trench in their arses with me hook and they'll learn not to defile my property again."

"Let's just call Emma and let her do her thing."

"Let's not." Hook hissed, looking to Thump and Waghorn again. "Where's the old man?"

"Haven't seen him." Waghorn responded, then after Hook's guttural curse quickly added. "But I'm sure he's fine! If he's anywhere, probably went back to the Bilge."

"Come again?"

"That's what Gary calls it. The side of town where you found him and Wulf?"

Hook recalled their conversation at Olin's tavern and nodded. "You lot put the ship to rights. I'll go find the old man."

"What about Breakspear?"

"A little more time in the brig should cure his stupidity." Hook strode towards the gangplank and called over his shoulder, "Baelfire! If you could provide escort."

Once they were back in the car and speeding away from the docks, Bae rationalized, "I took a tour of Storybrooke when I first got here and that neighborhood is bad news."

"Noted."

"And you've got a big wad of cash and an even bigger check burning holes in your pockets."

"Noted."

With a sigh, Baelfire sped up and had them entering the Bilge within minutes. There were more people about than on Hook's last visit there and the area looked even more derelict in the bright November sun. He directed Bae to Olin's and before they could roll to a complete stop, Hook was out of the car and pounding on the locked door. The burley bartender appeared, angry at the ruckus, but once he gleaned that Wulfson was missing, concern took over.

"He usually beds down in the alleys if he's got nowhere to sleep, but there's another place he could be." Olin led Hook and Bae through the kitchen of the dark pub, grabbing a thick jacket on the way out the back door. "That warehouse there. Wulfson used to own it, made textiles and such. But then business waned, he missed several payments to that twee demon and he lost everything."

"Twee demon?" Hook asked suspiciously.

"Gold."

Anger spiking again, Hook glanced sidelong at Bae and took note of his pained expression. That was definitely a conversation to be had later. At present, they needed to find Wulfson and if there was even one scratch on his slight frame, some poor bastard was going to pay. Hook would examine his acute attachment to the old man later, when there was no more blood to spill.

The warehouse was a brown brick two story with smaller arched windows flanking several larger ones. Some of the grimy panes were broken, others boarded up. The weathered wooden door was at least ten feet tall and secured with thick chains. Navigating a crumbling a sidewalk, Olin guided them around to the building's rear. They slipped easily through a jerry-rigged lock on the gate and carefully scaled the steps to a set of metal double doors.

"The padlocks are gone." Olin twisted a knob and pushed. "Someone's bolted it from inside."

"Wulfson!" Hook drubbed the door several times. Silence. After another minute of fruitless pounding and yelling, they were making to break the door down when they heard a loud scraping from the other side.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Wulfson's voice was muffled and annoyed. "Give me a moment!"

Locks unclicked, bolts slid loose and the door swung open to reveal the old man. A ratty coat covered even rattier bedclothes and white hair stood up in tufts all over his head. His eyes were bloodshot and weary, but they lit up when he spied Hook. "Good to see you returned, Captain. What _is_ that ugly thing you're wearing?"

Hook gave him a shrewd onceover before deeming the old man well and the anxiety in his chest eased. "Here I am worrying about your crusty carcass and all you can do is cast aspersions?"

"Well it _is_ hideous." Wulfson turned up his nose, then gave Bae a curious look. "Ah, a new face. You are?"

"This is Baelfire, owner of said hideous coat."

" _Neal_." Bae corrected with a scowl, reaching around Hook to shake the old man's hand. "Neal Cassidy."

"Your mother gave you a fine name, you should use it."

Bae sighed. "Fuck, whatever…it's your world. I'm just crashing in it."

"You're the Dark One's son?" Wulfson stepped aside to allow them inside, taking Bae in with a shrewd gaze. "You don't seem insane or evil. No offense."

"Yeah, none taken. You okay, old dude?"

"Fine, fine." Wulfson shut the door, bolted it and shoved a chair under the knob, then ambled for the stairs on the other end of the long, vacant room. Despite the sun streaming in from the long bank of windows and the presence of that electricity marvel, the room was bone chillingly cold. "I was just having coffee, if you care to join me."

They followed Wulfson to the loft above. It was half the size of the lower floor it overlooked, but still quite expansive. Two smaller rooms were sectioned off on either side, one a sparse bathroom, the other empty. Every nook and cranny of the open space beyond was filled with boxes, endless bolts of fabric, odd machinery and life-sized manikins.

Wulfson had carved out a small corner for himself, where he'd set up a makeshift bed. A pot of coffee brewed on the small cooktop perched on a table and one of those portable heaters was shooting an inadequate amount of hot air around the space.

Hook fought down irritation. Wulfson been given more comfortable and sanitary quarters aboard the _Jolly_ , yet he'd chosen to sleep in this sty. "Why'd you leave the ship? You've better lodging there."

Wulfson went to a rack of neatly hung clothing and began shifting through it. "The boys were having a party. I wasn't interested in being around all that commotion."

"Wasn't the crew. Whoever it was, they vandalized the _Jolly_ , left a nice mess."

"Disrespectful miscreants. No, didn't see anything. I was headed towards the dock when I heard the ruckus. Turned round and came here instead." Wulfson was moving towards Hook, garment in hand. "I'm sorry to hear about the _Jolly_ , Captain. Did the old girl suffer a lot of damage?"

"Nothing that can't be repaired." Hook assured. "What's this then?"

Wulfson proudly held the garment up for Hook's inspection. "I fashioned a new coat for you, one more in keeping with this world's styles."

Hook glanced disparagingly at Wulfson's shabby attire. "Shouldn't you be fashioning one for yourself?"

"Yes, yes I will, now that I've my things again. Come now, let's try this on and see how it fits."

As Hook shucked Baelfire's puffy gray jacket and donned the new one, Olin checked the coffee and Bae warmed himself in front of the heater.

"You know if Gold finds you here, there'll be trouble." Olin warned, giving Baelfire an apologetic look. "He doubled the chains last time we broke in and he'll figure out it's us soon enough."

"Eh." Wulfson walked around Hook, pushing him towards a dusty, full length mirror. "I'm told the bank owns it now. I've been hiding the _For Sale_ signs, but it probably doesn't matter. No one wants this scrapheap but me."

Wulfson had been a much sought after tailor back in Misthaven. Here, he'd barely been able to scratch out a living and lost all his possessions as well. A shame. He could work wonders with a needle, Hook mused as he smoothed a leather sleeve and admired the coat's fit in the mirror. Before he'd left for New York, he'd also been gifted with a vest and trousers, equally well made.

"There are a few other items." Wulfson returned to the clothes rack to retrieve more garments. Two dark cashmere shirts. A fawn-colored waistcoat. Brown leather trousers. Black knee-length wool trench coat.

It was a pity Wulfson could make clothes for Hook only. Then again…

"What if I were to acquire your scrapheap for you?"

"I couldn't let you do that, lad." Wulfson held a bolt of indigo fabric up to Hook and tilted his head thoughtfully. "This would make a nice shirt."

"You could take up your trade again." Hook persisted. Wulfson was a fellow countryman of their long dead land. There were many generations between them and no blood relation, but that didn't matter. He would see him living well.

"I've no interest in coming out of retirement..." Wulfson snorted. "…such as it is. Though it'd be nice to spend my few remaining days in comfort."

"You've a lot of days left, old man. You're barely sixty."

"Sixty-two, I think."

"Sixty-four." Olin chuckled as he wiped out several mugs and poured coffee. "Have you eaten today?"

"I have." Wulfson was now stretching cambric across Hook's chest. At the pirate's raised brow, he admitted sheepishly. "I haven't."

Hook sighed in resignation. He longed for a hot bath, a few hours' sleep. Emma. But apparently his elderly charge needed tending to first. "Let's get you some grub then, shall we?"

"And take a trip to the bank afterward?" Bae said, pointedly nodding at his discarded coat and alluding to its valuable contents.

"Aye." Hook agreed, throwing an arm about Wulfson's slight shoulders and taking in their surroundings. "Seems we have quite a lot of business there."


End file.
